


love me now

by aubadezayn



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alternate Canon, Ambiguous/Open Ending, Collaboration, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Emotional Sex, Estranged Friendship/Relationship, Fluff and Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Idiots in Love, Lack of Communication, M/M, Mutual Pining, POST-ZAYN LEAVING, Pining Zayn, Reunion Sex, Song Lyrics, Songwriting, mentioned Zigi and Chiam but they're both pr relationships
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-07
Updated: 2017-04-07
Packaged: 2018-10-15 22:52:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,288
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10559052
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aubadezayn/pseuds/aubadezayn
Summary: zayn collabs with liam





	

**Author's Note:**

> so basically liam and zayn reunite around february 2017 (kind of following canon but not entirely/really) to write the song "love me now" (which in our universe is sang by john legend (maybe written by him idk?)). they are both still in pr relationships, but they only know their own relationship is fake, and refuse to communicate about it.
> 
> also this fic has one of my characteristic open endings which i kno some people have difficulty with, but i hope u enjoy it anyway <3 feel free to come chat with me on tumblr @darlinzayn
> 
> ((i genuinely suggest listening to love me now throughout this because it's such a ziam song))

Zayn’s lounging after a day at the studio, flipping through channels on the telly, humming to one of his new songs’ melodies, when he catches a glimpse that makes his heart stop. The curls would have stopped him in his tracks if he’d been walking, as it is he sits up cautiously and flips back to the Brits. He was nominated, he thinks, but the media had been broadcasting it mostly as the same old “One Direction versus Zayn” storyline so he hadn’t bothered paying much attention to it.

 

If he won, ace. If he didn’t, who cares?

 

He pauses on the screen, turning up the volume so he can hear Liam’s voice better, as he waxes poetically about how One Direction is eternal and who they are. He can relate, no matter what he does, or what anyone thinks, he’ll always have Bus 1 on his arm, he’ll always have 1D’s albums on his Wikipedia page. It doesn’t go away, it shouldn’t.

 

Liam looks good, a little skinny though Zayn doesn’t have much room to talk about that himself, but happy enough. Gorgeous as always, tattoos deep and dark like they’re brand new; Gucci hoodie, on a fucking awards show like he’s just walked in to grab the award and is going to hit the club right afterward. He remembers of course, and it’s never quite slipped from his mind, but seeing them on the big screen, Zayn’s reminded how much he misses Liam’s lips. And eyes. And hands.

 

The lights go out on Simon, which makes Zayn laugh out loud alone in his flat.

 

* * *

 

 

“Could we re-run that?” Zayn asks, pausing in the studio to gulp down water and re-try a high note. The first one is fine, perfect probably, but something about it doesn’t feel right. Besides, he’s not doing this in the middle of the night, next to a mattress making up a makeshift studio, desperate to just sing and go to sleep. He has the time to make it perfect.

 

They do, and he sings the line clearly, nearly exactly the same as the last but it feels better. It carries the tone he wants, just as he wants it to.

 

They finish for lunch, and Zayn chats for awhile before heading up to the roof of the studio. It’s a nice place to unwind, a place where he’s usually left alone. No one looks for celebrities on the roofs of buildings, usually. He smokes, unwinding and shaking off the day’s tension under the setting sun’s light. He scrolls his Instagram awhile, reading some comments on his most recent photos. It’s addictive, knowing what people think, reading all the things his fans say (some dirty, some ridiculous, some rather rude, but some genuinely kind and supportive).

 

Then he goes to his contacts to call Wali, and he sees it there. Normally he’d scroll past it, his eyes glazing over the familiar name like it’s not even there, used to its presence but rarely expecting to press on it. Liam, and two red and yellow heart emojis. Stupid that he’s kept it, Liam’s probably gotten a new phone since they’ve spoken.

 

They talked after Zayn left, of course, but not frequently. Then it kind of ended, both of them getting wrapped up in their own things. Liam with Cheryl, Zayn with Gigi, One Direction disbanding for the hiatus, Zayn working with Versace – they’ve been busy.

 

Sometimes he feels sort of bad that he didn’t try harder, didn’t work to bridge the gap made by his exit from the band, didn’t accept all the olive branches Liam tried to offer. Other times he knows he’s been in love with Liam since he was 17, and launching a solo career, with his image still being one of a heterosexual, is stressful enough without that added on.

 

He presses the name and hesitates on the screen after it. Does he text? Does he call? Does he delete it?

 

Liam’s definitely gotten a new phone since the last time they’d spoken, what’s the harm in a call then?

 

Zayn presses call and it rings the dial tone dully into his ear. It’s not saying this number is deactivated, which makes his stomach twist, but he hangs on. It rings, and it rings, and it rings till he feels like he’s going to lose his mind, tapping nonexistent ash off his joint.

 

Then it clicks, and a voice Zayn hasn’t heard speaking just to him in far too long says, “Zayn?”

 

“What’s up?” Zayn asks casually, voice soft like he’s talking to a member of his family, or like he’s time travelled back three years and he’s calling Liam while they’re on a break.

 

“Um, I just got back from the gym.” Liam says, going with it despite the trepidation in his voice. He sighs, and Zayn can imagine him running his fingers through his hair, stood in the kitchen shirtless before a shower, confused but willing to play along. Always willing.

 

“You box?” Zayn asks, minds eye filled with years of watching Liam bulk up and grow, developing abs that made their fans (and Zayn) drool. His biceps, his abs, his pecs, always in Zayn’s reach. Open to him, never turned away.

 

“Not today.” Liam says vaguely, then he clears his throat. “Uh, I swam laps. I’m trying something new.”

 

It’s oddly endearing imagining Liam doing the butterfly stroke, and then Zayn imagines him stepping out dripping water all along the pool tiles, droplets running down his legs, others tangling in chest hair. He coughs, looking around the roof like someone might be there to see him. It’s nearly time for him to head back, they’re going to wonder why he’s disappeared for an hour long lunch when he’d been the one to insist they come back at all today.

 

“That’s wicked.” Zayn says. “I’m uh, at the studio. Recordin’.”

 

“Oh!” Liam’s voice lights up, though hesitantly like he’s still uncomfortable with them not addressing the elephant in the conversation. But he seems genuinely intrigued when he asks, “A new single? Collab?”

 

He’s been working on a song for the album, whose lyrics have been dancing around his dreams for weeks, but he doesn’t really want it to be a single. The vibe is off. Maybe if he tweaks it some more…

 

“That’s why I called actually.” Zayn says, surprising himself and Liam.

 

“Really?” Liam asks, voice soft like when he’d comment on something and no one would hear him but Zayn. Intimate, gentle, Liam’s voice warms Zayn’s chest like he hasn’t felt in forever.

 

“Yeah, you’re solo now, right?” He hears Liam hum and say “right”, but his heart is beating nearly as loud. He hadn’t planned to call Liam today, much less do what he’s doing, but it feels good. “You wanna collab with another solo artist?”

 

“Um…won’t it be weird? The Sun will have a field day; every magazine will say – “

 

“I don’t care what they say.” Zayn says firmly, which is true. He barely does interviews anyway, he’s doing this for the music, for himself. They can all say and think whatever they want, as long as the art is authentic. “Unless…you do? It’s just an idea.”

 

Liam’s quiet for a moment and Zayn can just see the cogs turning in that head, weighing pros and cons, going about this all responsible and rational like this isn’t a bit mad to even consider. “How much do you have already?” Liam asks, finally, cautiously.

 

“The hook, and most of the chorus. I’ve only started working on it today.” Zayn doesn’t tell him about the pages and pages of scribbled, half-thought lyrics he’s dedicated to Liam’s eyes – only a few of which have made up today’s work. The song is about Liam, of course, most of them are. “I could send it to you – “

 

“No, I’ll come, there.” Liam says, cutting him off. “If that’s alright?”

 

“Course, that’s, yeah, that’s great.” Zayn coughs, mostly to fill the silence left behind by his awkward stammer. He runs a hand through his hair, and stubs out the little bit of joint he has left into the roof’s top. They talk a little bit more, about where the studio is, about when Liam can catch a flight, about where he’ll stay. Zayn offers for him to stay with him, to which Liam awkwardly asks about Gigi.

 

“Won’t she, uh, be mad that you didn’t ask her first? Does she like guests?”

 

“She doesn’t live with me, Leem.” Zayn stands up, dragging his feet as he walks to the exit door. He’ll let the team go for the rest of the day, now that Liam is on the project, he can stand to wait a bit, put the work down for a second until Liam is here to work on it. “You know it’s…you know.” He doesn’t elaborate on what it is, or what Liam knows, but the ensuing silence says a lot.

 

“I gotta go, Liam, but…I’m really glad you’re coming.” Zayn says, hand on the door handle, tongue between his teeth. They absolutely don’t need to be in the same city or studio to collaborate with each other, Zayn didn’t see Taylor for their collab until the music video. They live in a wonderful age of technology; but Liam’s agreed to get close again, to come where Zayn can see the pen smudges from writing the verses on his hands, where Zayn can see his smile when a note or a harmony goes just right.

 

“Me too.” Liam says softly, voice soft just for Zayn.

 

* * *

 

 

Zayn likes his life exactly as it is. His friends, his team, his music, his family…it’s what he wants, and if anything isn’t what he wants, he has faith that it’ll just take a little time to get where he wants it. Trials and frustrations just lead to better opportunities, which is why he agrees to parade around on a “date” with Gigi two days before Liam is set to arrive in London.

 

None of the magazines have gotten whiff of their collaboration yet, which Zayn is grateful for but his manager insisted that he give them something with Gigi before the “big scandal”. He’s willing to do it if it gets everyone off his back, including her.

 

They parade about, he makes a few snarky comments and mostly just tries to focus on eating his dinner and not thinking about Liam nonstop. He generally fails to do the latter. Gigi is talking to him, maybe, he hums responses but doesn’t say much. He lets her hold his hand above the table perfectly within the sight of paparazzi cameras, and he gives her the mushrooms from his pasta because he hates them, and she likes them. It’s not terrible. It’s not fun.

 

They end the night with him getting “caught” going in and out of her hotel, and she flies out back to her New York flat that night. It’s transactional, purposeful, but it leaves a dirty sheen to his skin that he can’t wash off. With Liam so close, it feels worse to go through the charade.

 

He texts Liam a smiley face, because they do that again he supposes, and says “Two days.” It’s hard to contain his excitement.

 

* * *

 

 

Zayn is absolutely, completely, 100% banned from the airport when Liam arrives which is exactly why he shows up. He dresses as low key as possible, and brings a body guard who is inconspicuous, and waits outside the terminal where airport staff allow him, with his head down looking at dumb memes on Tumblr. He avoids looking at things that are about him on there but there’s some funny shit.

 

When he sees him, he can’t care about being sighted, he can’t care about how absolutely pissed his manager is going to be, he can’t care about the possible mob they might incite outside the airport. At the moment, all he cares about is Liam.

 

“Zayn, you shouldn’t be here.” Liam says, though his smile could light up an entire city. He wraps Zayn up in a two-armed hug like no time has passed, like no cameras are trained on them, and they head to baggage claim. Liam’s suitcases are retrieved, they’re not spotted, the paps are kept safely away – it’s a perfect day.

 

Until they get to Zayn’s car, which is swarmed with paparazzi all curious to who is picking Liam up. Now that they’re closer, it’s obvious.

 

“Zayn! Zayn, are you getting back together with One Direction?”

 

“Do the others know you and Liam are here? Are they going to join you guys?”

 

“Zayn! Where’s Gigi?”

 

“Liam! Where’s Cheryl? Are you not going solo? When will the album drop?”

 

The questions are an immense tidal wave, crashing upon them until the door of the car finally shuts them off, and Zayn sighs. “Sorry, seemed like we might get out alive for a minute there.” They’re next to each other in the backseat, elbows nearly close enough to touch, and Zayn restrains himself from doing so.

 

“It’s okay, don’t think we’ve ever managed to be incognito anywhere. Much less an airport.” Liam says musingly, looking out the window was they pull out of the terminal, surrounded by a sea of taxis. “How are you?”

 

“Good.” They lapse into silence, and it’s strange. On the phone and through texts they’ve managed to make it seem like no time has passed, no stone is left unturned, no elephant in the room. In person, it’s a bit harder, the conversation stilted.

 

“How was the flight?”

 

“Good. Long.” Liam nods to himself and then he points at Zayn. “I listened to the song so far. It’s good, I love the hook.”

 

“Nice,” Zayn says, turning eagerly in his seat to face Liam more. From there, they talk about the song naturally, conversation flowing as Liam suggests slight word changes to what Zayn’s already wrote, and some concepts for the body of the song. By the time they get to Zayn’s flat they’ve nearly constructed the song, despite it’s missing verses, and Zayn feels even more like this trip means something more than collaboration. They could have done this over skype, text, phone, the collab would have been just as good. But Liam’s here, and he’s warm, and his knee is pressed to Zayn’s, and he looks at him through those long eyelashes, and his hand lingers on the middle seat an inch away from Zayn’s own.

 

He tries not to get his hopes up.

 

“Gigi went back to New York?” Liam asks when they’re headed up to Zayn’s flat, his suitcase in hand. He’s agreed to stay with Zayn instead of a hotel, for better late-night writing conditions, and food, but it’s still strange to see him in the stairwell. Or at the door. Or even stranger, standing in Zayn’s living room.

 

“Yeah, she, uh, she just came over for a visit.” Zayn waves away the conversation physically, a hand in the air. He doesn’t care about Gigi, or what she’s doing. “So you can stay in the guest room, here.” Zayn opens the door, the room recently de-cluttered. He’s not sure his London flat is home, or if any of the places he owns outside of his parent’s house could be ‘home’, but he spends a lot of time here and it shows in the sheer amount of stuff. It had taken him nearly all day with the help of his visiting cousins to clean up the guest room for Liam’s stay.

 

“Um, yeah.” Zayn says eventually when Liam sets his bag on the bed but doesn’t say anything. “You need anything? Shampoo?”

 

Liam is a famous musician, Zayn mentally hits himself, he probably has shampoo or the capability of getting some. He doesn’t really know how to host, especially not one of his oldest friends, who may or may not be his friend anymore. Especially when the person he’s hosting is someone he wants to throw down on the mattress and devour.

 

“Er, settle in.” Zayn says, fleeing the room.

 

* * *

 

 

The media explodes, as expected, so Liam and Zayn spend the entire next two days barricaded in his flat, working on the verses for the song, harmonizing together and ignoring how much they still want to touch each other. It’s strange, it shouldn’t be this intense. Zayn has lived an entire two years of his life without One Direction, without Liam, and somehow it’s like nothing at all has changed when it comes to wanting Liam.

 

He does things that are completely ordinary, like stretches when they’ve both woken up and joined together in the kitchen for bowls of cereal. He’ll yawn, mouth wide open like an ape, and raise his arms above his head in a widening arch, and somehow Zayn will feel ready to drop to his knees. Liam will put his hand casually on Zayn’s arm to stop him during a writing session, and all the hair on Zayn’s arm stands up straight, every nerve awakened.

 

He’d forgotten the effect Liam had on him, how he has the power to make him smile better than anyone. The song isn’t happy, really, the result of a lot of stress in Zayn’s day to day, and the lingering old feelings of falling out of contact with Liam. But somehow Zayn smiles and laughs more than he has in months.

 

* * *

 

“Liam, hm?” Doniya asks when she gets wind of the all the news reports, including the pap photos of them at the airport. “You two are recording together? You think that’s a good idea?” The words are judgmental but her tone is supportive, genuinely curious to how he’s thinking. He knows if he tells her it’s a good idea that she’ll believe him.

 

“I don’t know.” Zayn says honestly. “But you should hear the song, Doniya, it’s – “

 

“Beautiful I’m sure.” There’s fondness in her tone now, that familiar big-sister motherly sound.

 

“I can’t wait for you to hear the final version; we’re still tweaking it.” Zayn says excitedly, putting his phone on speaker so he can pull it away from his ear and read the text from Liam. He’s coming back from the gym, and he’s texted, “Wanna watch Luke Cage? J”

 

He texts him back an eager yes, smiling. His smile falters a bit at Doniya’s next words. “What about when it’s done, Zaynie? He’s not going to stay forever.”

 

“We’ll still talk; I think we’re really friends again. As much as you know, we can be.” Zayn shrugs. “It’ll work.”

 

“And you’re going to be okay with being friends with him again? What about You-Know-Who?” Doniya asks.

 

“Gigi’s not an issue, I’ve already told you, and Liam – “

 

“I meant Cheryl babe.” Zayn’s stomach drops. It’s fake, it has to be, like he and Gigi. It’s better, he can hear his manager’s voice saying, to be in a relationship because you get your name out there twice as much. It’s good business, good promo. “I’m not saying they’re in love, or that they’re real, but I’m saying do you know where Liam’s standing? Are you guys on the same page?”

 

“I…I don’t know how to bring it up.” Zayn scratches at his stomach, laying down on his bed and eyeing the closed door. He switches off speaker and holds his phone to his ear.

 

“You just have to, babe.” Doniya says, and then she continues, and he imagines her holding her hand up to the sky like their Dad does sometimes. “ _insha'Allah,_ it goes well and you can stop pining, it’s been making me sick for a year.”

 

“I don’t pine.” Zayn laughs when Doniya scoffs.

 

“Call me when you’ve talked to him.” She says firmly and hangs up on him with a gentle goodbye. He looks at the end call screen and then he hears Liam entering the flat. Maybe she’s right.

 

* * *

 

They’re watching Luke Cage, who is quickly becoming one of Zayn’s favorite Marvel characters, when Zayn sees an opportunity. Liam scrolls on his phone, and taps a few times. “Texting Cheryl?” Zayn says, hearing the weird tone to his own voice, which clearly comes across to Liam. “She miss you?”

 

“Uh, no, she’s – we don’t – I –“ Liam pauses, taking a breath and turning off his phone. “Cheryl and I don’t really text much.” That’s not an answer to Zayn’s question really, not the important question, but it seems laden with meaning. If they were in love they’d text, right? She’d be texting him every day; Zayn knows he has been since Liam and he reconnected even with him staying in his house.

 

Zayn’s not sure how to ask, so he looks back to the show. Then he feels Liam’s leg press against his as he shifts on the sofa, and he only hesitates a second before he lifts so his knee is over Liam’s. It brings them so much closer that Zayn feels like he’s sitting in Liam’s lap, and stretches his arm out across the back of the sofa to just barely rest his fingers against Liam’s neck.

 

They stay like that till Zayn starts to fall asleep, eyes heavy as they fuzzily stare at the screen. His arm falls off the back of the couch to rest across his torso, hand loose on his stomach. It’s getting late, though earlier than Zayn usually gets tired, slightly an insomniac when he’s writing.

 

He’s just barely awake when he feels a hand slide into his.

 

* * *

 

Zayn hates interviews, and tries to avoid them basically as much as possible but his manager lays down the law when he says he has no interest in promo’ing the song with interviews. “One,” She says, holding a finger in his and Liam’s faces. “You’ve withheld statements, interviews, comments about this little reunion.” She waves her hand at the two of them like them being friends and collaborating again is something small and silly. “I allowed it because I understand how you feel about privacy, Zayn.”

 

“But,” and now she holds up a second finger. “You have to promote the song, mates. It’s just – absolutely impossible to even consider just dropping the song without a word.”

 

“Why not?” Zayn asks, shrugging, and looking to Liam who shrugs with him. “People are going to think what they think.”

 

“Liam, you cannot be going along with this?”

 

Liam looks to him and their eyes lock, and its clear that Liam’s considering the pros and cons. In the end though he nods slowly, an intensity to his eyes that makes Zayn’s heart pound faster, and says “If Zayn thinks we shouldn’t promote the song, then we won’t promote it. Let it speak for itself.”

 

It means more to him than Zayn had expected, to have Liam trust him.

 

* * *

 

The night they truly, finally finish the song they have a few drinks and get high to celebrate.  Liam’s soft lips on a beer bottle drives him crazy and gets him hard, smoke trickling from his mouth breaks Zayn.

 

He rolls over on the stupid blankets they’d laid out on the roof of the studio and he kisses him. Simple. Gentle. Like slipping into an old, familiar pair of denims, or more realistically like easing back into the comfortable, well-known arms of a past lover. Liam’s mouth moves against his softly, Zayn cradled between his thighs. His hands move over Zayn’s arms and neck and back without haste, no rush at all to the press of palms into Zayn’s hair.

 

_“Pulling me further, further than I've been before.”_

 

“Zayn.” Liam moans against his lips, and Zayn’s heart thuds hard where their chests meet. His hands slip beneath Liam’s shirt and coat, the skin warm and soft. Only touching him now does Zayn realize how long it’s actually been, how much he’s forgotten.

 

He kisses the birthmark on Liam’s throat gently, and thrusts his hips against Liam, their cocks trapped underneath fabric but rubbing together. Liam’s hand cradles the back of his head, like he’s done a million times, in platonic hugs, in interviews, in situations just like this. His body is alight with sparks, like it hasn’t forgotten anything.

 

_“But I know what's in my heart, if you ain't mine I'll be torn apart.”_

The air is growing colder as the late night rolls in, little puffs of air appearing visibly between them whenever they manage to pull far enough apart. But the air between them is warm, and Zayn can’t feel anything but the blood rushing in his veins down to his cock, and the pounding in his head of Liam’s name. “I missed you.” Zayn confesses breathlessly, unbuckling Liam’s belt and wiggling his hand into his pants to grasp at his hard cock. Liam gasps against Zayn’s temple, and shudders, the sensation running between them like jolts of electricity.

 

“God, I missed you too.” Liam pulls Zayn’s head down so he’s arched over him with enough room to keep jerking him but rest their heads together. It’s not necessarily comfortable but neither is the gravelly roof beneath their blanket, and neither is the cold, and neither is being in love.

 

_“So I'm gonna love you now, like it's all I have.”_

Orgasm rolls through Zayn gently, entirely unlike it is in movies, or songs. It’s like a wave on a beach from your childhood, familiar, safe. He shudders in Liam’s arms, from the cold, from the intensity. Liam comes just a few seconds after, lips pressed tight to Zayn’s mouth like he wants it to never end, like they might just avoid the world if they keep kissing, keep close.

 

_“I know it'll kill me when it's over,_

_I don't wanna think about it, I want you to love me now”_


End file.
